


Cover 2: Massage

by SensationalSista



Series: Dixie Cups [2]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Sexy, Undercover Missions, innuendos, overt come on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 16:40:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6863836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SensationalSista/pseuds/SensationalSista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the fall of Samaritan (and everyone's alive and well), the Machine allows for Shaw to follow in Root’s steps, going through identities “like dixie cups”. But her many undercover guises never seem to protect her from Root’s snooping flirtation. Fluff filled one-shot collection.<br/>Shaw's cover identity #2: Physical therapist</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cover 2: Massage

**Author's Note:**

> This series is essentially a collection of Shoot one-shots with maybe 5-10% continuity throughout each installment. Just my excuse to write fluff with lots of innuendos and flirting.

Her fingers flipped over her wooden clipboard, checking the few sheets of patient information hidden beneath her schedule for the day. Deep brown eyes glanced upwards away from the printed words as Shaw looked around the open, thinly carpeted room; sporadic variants of exercise machines, free weights, exercise balls, balance foam boards, and a seemingly endless array of colorful therapy material coated the wall of the rehab gym.

Compared to the Machine’s last assignment, the young woman had to admit that it felt somewhat nice to be back within a more medically based setting. Perhaps not being within the acute care hospital walls was for the best, lest she allow for her sour feelings toward her medical school professors resurface.

However, when she had been told her new number was a young male athlete, injured in a suspiciously unspecified accident, who was now attending a prestigious Sports Physical Therapy clinic, Shaw already had an inkling that she would be enjoying her brief stay under this guise. At least, somewhat more so.

Although, managing an outpatient caseload of eight patients on her first day in professional field where she certainly was not a professional was far from easy. Yet being the determined chameleon that she was, Shaw just took it as a new challenge for the time being.

The stack of papers, containing her patient schedule and a myriad of different exercise “how to’s”, flopped back onto her personal board. She scanned the remaining two names and their brief histories on the list; a soccer player and a rower. She almost considered keeping a tab on how many student athletes showed up from the various colleges in the area. Soccer was clearly winning in prevalence. 40% of her case today was torn ACLs alone.

So far, the treatment portion of her job was pretty easy. She read off the injury in the patient’s history blurb beside their name, channeled all of her residual knowledge of anatomy & physiology, pulled out a pre-made exercise list and instructed the patients to do as she said. It was a pretty sweet gig.

Just… minus the social part. _Always_ the social part.

She had always known that she hated college students, their loud, obnoxious and immature ways of life falling short of what she expected from an adult. But God, now this disdain was worse than ever. Given the expertise of the facility, she would estimate 90 percent of all the clientele ever in this building were student athletes.

Shaw swore that if she had to hear the question “when will you clear me for practice?” one more time today, she was going to scream _. You wouldn’t be coming here if you were healed,_ she found herself thinking repeatedly while clenching her fists in annoyance, leaving her wishing she could punch a heavy weight medicine ball at several points during the day. _I should just say get back in the game; anyone can run with a broken femur with the right attitude._

But the worst part had to be the massages. Every single one of her sessions had to end with giving whatever patient’s injured area a massage. Something meant to be gentle and soothing; everything that Shaw was _not_. Especially, by the time the sessions were coming to an end, Shaw found herself just using it as another outlet for her frustration, usually pressing down much too hard for comfort and leaving her patients writhing in pain under the touch. Now _that_ made her smile.

So far, her only plus to the job was effortlessly getting to learn information directly from her number. It actually came almost sickeningly easy. There was just something about this job that had patients opening up faster than mall doors on Black Friday. Gears had worked in her mind, synthesizing the young man’s stories; sifting the relevant from irrelevant information as she was so well trained to do.

It didn’t take Shaw long to narrow down the lacrosse player’s reports of a shoulder injury “from a rogue lacrosse stick” in addition to his subtle references to a preference for the theater to know that his story was a grand fallacy. As she thanked him for his time and confirmed his appointment tomorrow, the dark haired woman had handed him his worn denim jacket; wallet and phone in the pocket.

Shaw had smirked as the man walked out, completely ignorant of the bug and tracker he carried away with him. A quick check of her phone and she was synced. 

This led her back to her current moment. Technically, she was free to go. She did not need to actually stay and work. Her number was located and prepped after all. Again, eyes looking down her list, she found herself calculating how fast she could sneak out of the building and avoid the last two patients sheduled for her cover. There was a beer back at her appointment that was calling her name..

A tiny bell jingled in the waiting room across the room and Shaw stiffened, seeing all of the other physical therapists fully engaged in therapy sessions. As if to enunciate the precision of the moment, Shaw’s watch beeped marking the hour change of which her next session was to start. _Shit. I’m going to need a redbull to get through the rest of this day._

With a deep breath to stifle her mental yawn and trying to forget about her delicious alcoholic beverage waiting at home, she strode to the semi enclosed waiting area; finger sliding to the sheet and stopping at her 3 o’clock’s name.

“Amy Mayor,” she read off, attempting to add the intonation of a curious question, but completely falling flat with absence of enthusiasm.

“That’s me!”

Black eyebrows knit together tightly as her jaw snapped up at the enthusiastic voice. Already feeling the aggravation of fatigue starting to morph into plain out purified aggravation alone, Shaw could not help her thoughts from rolling in with heavy sarcasm. _Forget the redbull. I’m going to need a full vodka transfusion.._

Hardened chocolate spheres watched those familiar honey dipped orbs glisten in delight. Shaw brought her eyes steadily skyward to the tall brunette just now stepping in front of her. It was only upon Root’s last step forward, overstepping Shaw's boundary of personal space by a mile (as usual), that Shaw noticed the large crutch tucked under her left arm.

She cocked a brow at the ridiculous situation, waiting for the explanation she was bound to receive anyway.

Cherry lips grinned. “Sameen Wells; doctor of physical therapy,” she teased lightly, eyes dropping to the name tag clipped to Shaw’s scrub top. “Well doesn’t that just roll off the tongue.”

“Cut the crap, Root-“

“- _Amy_.”

“Whatever,” Shaw mumbled walking back into the gym area, making a bee-line to the cushioned medical tables. She could hear the awkward hobbled steps and ‘click’ of the crutch hitting the floor behind her as Root kept up with her tempo.

Shaw tried her best to ignore the fact that even with a faux bum leg and an assistive ambulation device that Root’s long legs could still match her pace. She hated their height difference. Hated it so much. Now more than ever. It only made her small body bubble with more annoyance.

“So explain yourself,” Shaw said tersely, slapping her hand on the farthest table away from the other therapists. As Root approached this time, Shaw allowed herself a brief once-over of the woman’s attire. Loose fit sweatshirt with a college logo broad across the front: NYU Soccer. But no matter how nice the casual look was on the fake athlete, it was nothing compared to the draw Shaw’s eyes found toward the sight of her supposed injury. Black yoga pants tightly hugged her lengthy legs in all of the right spots. Oh those sexy black yoga pants were Shaw’s absolute favorite wardrobe choice for the hacker, both on and off of the woman’s body.. _Wait._ Shaw growled as realization struck her and she willed her resolve. _She did that on purpose._ _Dammit._

The taller woman gracefully slid herself up onto the table, slipping her shoes off and laying back while resting her head on the small pillow against the wall. Her sallow eyes never left the dark haired woman, seemingly dancing with amusement, easily reading yet another type of growing frustration across the black haired woman’s face.

“I pulled my hip flexor trying out some new positions.. for _soccer,”_ she said airily. Her gaze grew sly. “But I also wanted to impress my boo with some fancy leg work.” She extended her leg out to tap her toes against Shaw. The petite woman dodged the oncoming touch by taking a quick side step, eyes glaring.

With a subtle shake of her head, the shorter woman raised a skeptical brow. “I thought you had an _injury_ on that leg.”

Root blinked and then put on an expression of coy innocence as she drew her leg back to herself; hands splaying down her left hip. “Oh, right.. _oww_..” She puckered her lips in mock hurt, batting those heavy lashes upwards.

“Why should I even bother with this?” Shaw gritted through her teeth, ready to actually follow through with her plans of walking out of her completed cover, even if it meant having to rudely cancel one real patient to escape this madness.

But Shaw could live with herself.

“You don’t want to go breaking character now, Sameen,” the slightly older woman chided, still slowly rubbing her hands down the upper area of her thigh, below the supposedly injured muscle. Shaw forced herself to stare down the woman’s gaze instead of letting her own eyes wander along the path of Root’s languid hands. Those yoga pants were a trap after all. “Besides, She wanted me to check in on your number.”

“Hey, you stay out of my case!” Shaw said hotly. After all her hard work and social pragmatic sacrifice for the sake of a mission, she deserved to see it through with the satisfaction of apprehending (or taking out) some criminal. At that moment, Shaw caught eyes with a few of her questioning employees. Obviously they were wondering how long she was going to stand chatting up her current client. _May as well do something productive for the cover, I guess.._

Root gave a melodious laugh as Shaw hurriedly turned to a pile of hot pads stored next to the table, bending over to grab one. “Don’t get all defensive, Sweetie. I won’t stand in the way of your conquest.” Root took a personal second to appreciatingly admire her not-so-secret lover from behind, biting her lip while hidden from Shaw’s view. “Apparently, my own number knows yours and I need to find out their connection. Let’s just say sooner rather than later is preferable.”

Shaw stood, processing Root’s story while flopping a large hot pad in her arms like textile based pizza dough. “On your stomach,” she order, already hard walled and prepped for the flirtatious comeback that was expected with such an easy opening. _That’s a gimme. Just get it out now, you perv._

Root, seeming to appreciate the hand-out, did as she was told by letting out a quiet but seductive, “However you want me, Sameen.” Not even a moment later after the lithe woman was laying prone on her front, the bulky cloth of her university sweatshirt was yanked up by a rough hand, exposing porcelain skin; the abrupt cool air making her gasp. Before anything else could slip out of those salacious lips, Shaw smirked proudly by slapping the heavy heating pad down, causing an uncomfortable grunt paired with yet another, slightly less pleased, gasp.

It took a couple of seconds for Root’s body to try to process the sensation of the heat pad, deceptively soft padding yet accompanied by a burning that slowly increased in intensity in her low back down curving down over the side of her hips. She would eventually decide she loved this odd medical creation.

“That’s meant to warm your muscles up,” Shaw stated matter-of-factly. “But shutting you up for a few seconds is also a plus.”

“Warm me up and then _shut_ me up?” Root sent a smirk tucked over her shoulder. “Sounds like last night.”

Shaw folded her arms and leaned against the wall at the head of the table, foregoing indulging Root on her side comment of their quite pleasurable evening to cut to the chase. “Tell me about your number.”

Letting out something akin to a mewl as she adjusted underneath the weight of the hot pad, Root opened her mouth to disclose her mission. “His name is Ryan Buckley; mid 20’s, lackey in a gang but notorious for being the brawn when needed. Their whole group is covertly recognized for their drug distribution amongst the college students.”

“What’s his connection to my guy?”

Root smiled. “I was hoping you’d enlighten me.”

Shaw mulled over the information she had gotten today and pursed her lips. “Tyler Ganson. He’s here for a shoulder sprain, apparently hit by a stick during some unscheduled, and obviously fake, lacrosse practice.” In her mind, she visualized the sight of the kid’s injury as she continued. “The skin was so bruised and swollen that, had it actually been cause by standard issued game equipment, it would have had to be an incredibly hard and intentional hit.”

Root raised a brow up at the physical therapist. “But you don’t believe that it was a lacrosse stick.”

A snort. “I don’t even believe he plays a sport. He talked too emphatically about the theater and he severely lacked in muscle tone. Honestly, he’d never be the type to go out of his way to play _that_ hard.” She visualized some past injuries, both on herself and on many victims. “From my experience, the amount of bruising looked more like a purposeful beating of pipe origin.”

“Did he seem like the type to get messed up in the wrong crowd?” Root's question was so drawl. It was asked way too often between the members of Team Machine.

“Hah. Who isn’t when it comes to our numbers?” The taller woman had to give her that. Shaw patted her pocket where Root could make out the outline of her phone before Shaw retrieved it, fingers swiping away. “Looks like he got a text from an untraceable number,” she said as she read the hacked text message. “ _‘Have the green to avoid the black and blue. Fish side.’_ ”

“They’re getting poetic now,” Root said in amusement, resting her chin comfortably on her folded arms. Her calm, obviously pre-informed words were spoken in the direction of the wall. “There’s going to be a deal tonight down at the docks around 11. Given Shakespeare’s text, I’ll bet both our ties will be there.”

The smaller woman grinned at the prospect of a stakeout, a flare of eagerness coming to her face as she thought of her sniper rifle laying on her kitchen table. “Excellent. I’ve been hoping for a chance to use my new scope. Meet up at 10?”

“It’s a date,” she cooed lovingly, letting her eyes slide upwards toward her therapist. The flare of excitement fell from Shaw's face as she let out an near audible eye roll.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Shaw barged on with a growl, gesturing down the prone woman’s body. “What’s with your whole college girl get-up? Planning to buy some drugs from your number?”

Root elevated her torso up, pushing off of her forearms. “The team captain is his girlfriend. The Machine hasn’t given me any more details other than to trail her on the side. Just in case.”

“Never pegged you as the college jock type..” Shaw said with a trace playfulness in her voice, causing Root to raise a challenging ‘oh really?’ eyebrow. “I see you being the Geek Squad nerd who the students call for help after getting porn viruses on their laptops.” Shaw felt her lips raise in mild amusement at the exasperated and partially insulted facial response to her comment.

“I didn’t realize you thought so lowly of my area of expertise.” Root gave a mocking face as she began to pull the hot pad off of her back, swinging her legs over the table edge and pushing up into an upright position. She locked her eyes even with the Persian woman. “Now are we gonna do this,” she said motioning with a wave of her hand to the exercise equipment across the room. “Or did I schedule this appointment just to get to look into your pretty eyes?” Shaw’s eyebrow twitched in time with a downward pull of her lips, but Root giggled, head tilting. “I mean, either one works for me.”

Although she rolled her eyes at the statement, Shaw couldn’t help but feel a twinge of the painful reality check (again!) that, just by sitting on the rather high set table, Root was at her stature’s eye level.

That ever present stupid height difference aside, she let out a sigh. She pulled out a list of things to do for someone recovering from Root’s type of ‘injury’ and motioned for the tall woman to follow her (in all her stupid tall glory). It’s not like she had anything better to do while she maintained this cover for the rest of the day. What was that old saying? Grimace and bear it? Sounded right.

However, much to the ex-ISA agent’s surprise and more so chagrin, she found herself not absolutely despising the next 30 minutes of engaging Root in the various therapy maneuvers and stretches; although, she could have easily done without the ever present innuendo’s that seemed ready to drip from the hacker’s tongue. But that aside, she had to admit that she felt almost as amused while getting to complete these activities with Root as she did getting to pop some kneecaps with Reese or kick back with a cold one and play with Bear. Well.. _Almost._ Nothing could beat shooting, drinking beers, and Bear.

The last ten minutes eventually rolled around and Shaw had instructed her limping colleague back over to their private medical table. As she gave her curt instructions for the brunette to lay back down on the table for one final stretch and mandatory muscle massage, she knew that Root was already about to fire away the next round of smart-ass comments.

“I love it when you are bossy,” she purred. Her long legs straightened out on the padded furniture and she scooted her hips in the slightest while preparing to get comfortable, but whether the motion was meant to be an intentional distraction or not (Shaw assumed it more than likely was), her chocolate eyes were inadvertently attracted to the motion. Root's rolling hips were hard to ignore. 

Realizing that she had given in to her body's subconscious behavior, she swiftly looked back up to the smug grin coming from Root’s lips. _Oh yeah, definitely intentional._ The smaller woman did not hesitate to delve into her final activity, deft hands reaching out to take hold of the very familiar body below her.

The thin layer of black yoga pants clung to all of the right curves. Shaw found herself appreciating a bit more freely now that her eyes were forced to be trained on the region. Not that she wasn’t already well aware of how good they looked on the lithe woman, but she could appreciate it without Root's dumb winning grin now.

The stretchy fabric felt familiar beneath the pads of Shaw’s fingers. Although, those very same fingers were much more accustomed to wrapping themselves beneath the waistline riding along Root’s hips, pulling them down and casting them aside in a heap in whatever room they were christening at the time. The image of yanking these pants down to reveal the porcelain flesh beneath flashed through her mind, but she physically fought off the urge.

One quick glance up to her patient’s expectant face paired with the tactile pressure beneath her fingers, Shaw felt a steady wave of heat, originating at her abdominal core, begin to course both upwards to her chest and simultaneously _downwards_. She felt her hands' grip squeeze down against the woman’s lower thigh, the act causing a breathy inhale from the hacker. Shaw could account it to both the identifiable rising level of arousal now radiating out of her glowing honey eyes, as well as her known history of Root’s not-so-secretly ticklish knees.

A smirk teased the corner of her lip. Oh, yes. She decided that she was actually going to enjoy this part of her job this time.

Shaw’s right hand worked slowly, oh so slowly, up the outer part of Root’s thigh, coming to the point of her hip bone before it dipped down toward the curve of her ass; the rolling motion of each finger never losing its even pace as she increased the pressure into the muscle. The agent’s other hand slipped down the inside of the taller woman’s thigh, movements less pressured than appropriate for a proper massage, and complete opposite of those aggressive ones that she had been giving out the rest of the day.. It was actually more akin to a gentle caress.

And of course, this was Shaw. Root knew very well that ‘gentle caress’ meant that she was aiming for deliberate and painfully purposeful teasing. Shaw smirked as the fair haired brunette squirmed beneath her, teeth biting at her lower lip to stifle back any noises that she would normally allow to sing from her mouth in encouragement to Shaw’s ministrations. But said noises could not be let free. Not with a patient and therapist working two beds over.

The control Shaw now empowered over the situation had her whirring internally with excitement.

“Do you always touch your patient’s this intimately?” questioned the currently supine woman in rhetoric, slender fingers wrapping around the edge of the padded table as Shaw continued her ministrations; her softly curved hips writhing, as if fighting desperately to inhibit an upward roll of anticipation and want.

Ready to simply brush off the comment and continue enjoying the physicality of her actions, the Persian woman decided to mull over her response for a second longer given her currently controlling position. She smiled the tiniest of smiles, quirking a brow as she did. “More or less.”

Honey eyes shot open, transient surprise flickering like a minuscule candle light, but those same eyes instantly narrowed into slits at the verbal tease. Shaw would be lying if she denied taking pleasure in egging on Root’s possessive side. Seeing even that split, micro-second of her guard falling was worth it. A triumph is a triumph, no matter how small.

Finally, Shaw let herself indulge just a bit more as her hand manipulated the muscle ever so high up along Root’s inner thigh, malicious smirk now fully tugging at her full lips as her index finger took the slightest of detours against the apex of Root’s yoga pants; allowing for just one gentle line sliding down against the tight, fitted fabric. That same smirk began to radiate pride as Shaw realized the damp sensation against her finger tip as she retracted her hand back down the woman’s leg.

This time, Root could not hold back the groan from her mouth, tawny eyes sliding shut as her hips rolled up in the slightest; an involuntary, hungry response for more and yet equally disappointed at the loss of brief contact.

Shaw’s dark eyes shot up instantly as the noise left the woman’s lips, looking to the nearby therapist who turned a concerned head over his shoulder. Shaw forcefully tried to drop her smirk into some mask of professional concern as she looked back at her patient. “I’m sorry, was that spot tender?” she asked with a veil of professionalism, although she knew it contained more sarcasm than not. Regardless, it seemed to appease her concerned momentary co-worker who turned back to his own work.

Heavily lidded eyes, now clouded with provocation looked up, easily seeing through Shaw’s guise and reading the taunt for what it was. Letting out a breathy sigh, she fought back her own grin. “A little..” and then with a lower voice, she asked, or more so stated, sweetly,  “Kiss it better?”

There was something in the sweetness laced with seduction of that tone that caught Shaw off guard, breaking her concentration as being the dominant party in their impromptu romp.

Shaw felt her cheeks flush, frustrated at her body’s sudden urge to simply dive forward and comply to Root’s lamely veiled command. She’d have done so in a heartbeat at any other time. But she could not here, and as if right on cue, her watch beeped. The hour marker. This session was up. She quickly pulled her quivering hands back, grabbing a nearby towel to scrub her sweaty palms. Internally, she cursed herself for letting her arousal cause such a tremor to visibly reverberate across her.

 _Get a hold of yourself, Sameen_ , she scolded while taking in a deep breath through her nose. God, how she wanted a cold shower and a vodka shot right now.

As she busied herself beside the table, her current patient seemed to deflate with the loss of body connection; hazy eyes opening in a fatigued annoyance. Her face literally screamed in question for Shaw’s rationale for stopping the covert foreplay, despite logically understanding that there really was not much that could happen in their present location.

The undercover physical therapist lifted her clipboard from the floor. “Sorry,” she said blatantly unapologetically, more excited than before about having another client due to her need for a distraction. The frustrated pout now raining down on Root’s features tickled a hint of sadistic amusement in Shaw. Hey, if Root was going to invade her cover missions and try to get her all hot and bothered or whatever Root’s crazy mind is always up to, then Shaw had complete right to do it right back. Leaving Root in need of a cold shower just as badly as herself, Shaw allowed a swell of superiority to bubble in her chest.

Shaw spun in her sneakers, throwing an uncharacteristically sugary smile over back at the hacker, hoping to further drive home her infliction of irritation. “Duty calls. You’re free to go, _Amy_.”

Root slowly sat up on the table bed, still dazed, as Shaw left to peak her head in the waiting area. It was 4 o’clock on the dot; completely empty waiting room. Perhaps she would end up lucking out after all. She was still feeling that buzz in her system from moments ago, of course, despite her best effort to dampen the burn. No doubt Root would have to agree on that same feeling. Stepping out of her cover early with the fake soccer player to finish what was already started back at their apartment (or alleyway, or elevator, she wasn't picky) would be much nicer than dealing with her need for a cold shower as she went through another kid’s session...

Decision made without any concern for her patient possibly running late, Shaw turned back into the rehab’s gym, a little more excitedly than she was pleased to acknowledge, retreating to the back end of the room. As she approached the bed, she slowed her steps, finely arched brows drawing together.

Root sat swinging her legs loosely, crutch nowhere in sight. Instead, her arm was now concealed in a white fabric sling. The sweatshirt had been forgone, piled at the head of the table, leaving her dressed in a loose fit sport top; the words NYU Crew written in the same college font as the last get-up.

Shaw’s arms fell to her side limply, clipboard clattering against her hip bone, emphasizing the absolute exasperation that hit her like a crashing tidal wave.

“No.”

A small giggle passed the seated woman’s lips as she out stretched her free hand in mock introduction. “Jill Wilkens. I row at NYU.”

“No,” repeated the shorter woman, previous arousal dissipating slightly as she grew frustrated in being so easily duped by Root’s agenda. Again. _How do I always fall for her stupid plans?_   “Seriously, what are you even doing?”

“She told me to trail their team’s coxswain,” she said with a smile.  Shaw raised a confused brow, and Root smirked. “You know, the angry and tiny person who commands all the rowers in the boat.. Hey, you’d be perfect at that role!”

An incensed grunt escaped the shorter woman’s lips as Root finished her remark with a wink. Shaw’s words were mildly embarrassed and bordering on hostility.. “Gee thanks for the education session. Cut the crap and tell me why you’re trailing _that_ person too.”

“She’s my number’s girlfriend.”

Shaw blinked, almost unconvinced. “..Another girlfriend?”

Root shrugged, puckering her lower lip with a neutral expression. She surely was not one to judge others’ lives too harshly, given her line of work. Shaw neither, for that matter..

However that didn’t stop the compact sociopath from putting forth her two-cents. Shaw made a disgusted snort. “Two women at a time?” Her arms folded across her scrub top as she rolled her eyes, breath muttered as she processed her condescension for this so called Ryan Buckley and his machismo ways. She shook her head in disappointment at the act. “Damn, one woman’s hard enough to deal with..”

The words were near silent in musing, but Shaw instantly regretted letting it slip out because a confident and incredibly pleased grin quickly plastered across Root’s face.

“Why Sameen,” she coddled, amber eyes sparkling while Shaw clenched her jaw. “Are you referring to me as _your woman_ now?”

The bubbling joy oozing from the sound of her words may have been nails on a chalkboard to the ex-ISA agent.

“Not even in your dreams.”

“Oh, if you only you could see those,” she said biting back her characteristic suggestive smile. Shaw was too slow to respond before Root cut her off. “Now, I believe I booked a special appointment and need to be tended to.” She tapped the clipboard still hanging at Shaw’s hip, black finger nails clicking as she did so.

Shaw ripped the board away with a glare, before directing her eyes down to her final scheduled patient, only now noticing the asterisk and footnote beside this ‘rower’s’ name. Her eyes widened before looking back up incredulously, voice still managing a dull flatness. “You booked a private massage for your _shoulder_.”

Root shrugged both of her shoulders, no shame in revealing her fake injury to her equally fake physical therapist.

Shaw chewed her inner cheek as she looked toward the hallway in the back of the gym, leading down to two private rooms meant for said massages. The rooms were kept private, reason being that they were meant for patients needing _full body_ massages specifically, usually following much more severe injuries than Root's. But of course Root booked it, probably using the Machine to bypass the credentials required from patient medical records to properly secure use of those rooms.

Her dark eyes narrowed as she glanced sideways back at the poised woman, annoyance gradually melding back into the arousal from minutes earlier as she considered this proposition with a more.. _positive_ outlook.

“Well, then,” she said sharing a knowing look with her injured student athlete. “We shouldn’t let your hour go to waste.”

“Tick tock, Sweetie.” Root smiled in response, hopping off the table and heading in the direction of the secluded hallway, seemingly already well aware of the location and room number she was booked under. Surprise surprise.

Shaw was hot on her heels, eyes scanning the gym's large room for any onlookers before comfortably drifting back down to Root’s sauntering ass, just out of her reach. _Not for long, though._

The millisecond both had stepped into the back room, the force of instant body on body magnetism slammed the door shut; Shaw's hands taking liberty to explore every muscle, tendon, joint, and absolutely any expanses of skin available with a rough grip and pressure squeezing against soft flesh. The pleasurable gasps from the pain far more pleasing than the disgruntled voices who had experienced Shaw’s hard massages earlier.

Shaw had to admit that perhaps there were some perks to giving massages after all.


End file.
